


Grease Monkeys

by tilda



Category: Panic At The Disco, Young Veins
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Mechanic(s), Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-10
Updated: 2012-03-10
Packaged: 2017-11-01 18:07:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/359729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tilda/pseuds/tilda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spencer Smith runs Wentz's Dentz Repair Shop in sleepy Summerlin. But the big boys at Fixit-4-Less have moved into town and Dentz is in trouble. Can Spencer save the day with help of his plucky mechanics, Brendon and Ryan? Or will they just end up having sex on the hood of a Chevy?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grease Monkeys

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a prompt in the no_tags bonus round: #43 – brendon/ryan/spencer – small town mechanics. 
> 
> This universe is obviously a la-la land in which a bunch of kids just out of high school are running a garage, and Ryan Ross is a skilled motorcycle mechanic.
> 
> ETA: I originally intended for this to be the first of a series. It's now standalone. Apologies for the slightly unresolved ending, and any disappointment resulting.

 

Spencer was in his office at the back of the garage, trying to make seven hundred dollars look like a thousand and not getting anywhere fast. He clicked out of the spreadsheet and leaned back in his chair. Excel could go blow. He laced his fingers behind his head and looked out onto the garage floor. It was lunchtime: Ryan was sitting with a paperback folded in one hand and a sandwich forgotten in the other; Brendon was lip-syncing along to the radio into a monkey-wrench. Six months ago the garage had so many jobs they couldn't even take a lunchbreak. 

He tipped forward and got up from his desk. He could still hear a muffled Lady Gaga coming through his closed door, and when he opened it, he got ‘Born This Way’ full blast. He watched Brendon dance, and thought for the zillionth time that the guy was wasted in a Summerlin grease shop. Brendon pivoted on the spot as the song ended and came to a rest facing Spencer. He had a streak of oil down one cheek.

'Spencer Smith!' he called, his face lighting up with a thousand-watt smile. 'You look tired my friend. Come. Sit,' he drew Spencer over to the car he'd been working on and brushed off the hood with a filthy cloth he whisked from the back pocket of his overalls. 'Only the finest Chevrolet hood in America for Mr Smith's tush.'

'Jesus, you are such a dork,' Ryan said, without looking up. He’d put down the Robert M. Pirsig and gone back to work on Mikey Way's ancient Yamaha (‘They make fucking _pianos_ , Mikey, not motorcycles,’ Ryan had said. But Mikey had given him that serial-killer stare and Ryan had caved.)

Brendon ignored him and leaned against the hood next to Spencer.

'What's up, Smith? The books not add up?'

'The books add up. They're just not full enough.'

Not long after Spencer became manager, a branch of Fixit-4-Less had opened in town, and customers had gradually slipped away to the cheaper, faster outfit. He couldn't match Fixit’s prices, and despite Pete Wentz’s endless crazy ideas for attracting new customers Spencer knew they were in trouble. Brendon bumped shoulders with him.

'Dude, there's gonna be an upturn soon. I know it. We're gonna get a... a.. Hell's Angels convention in town or something. I can feel it in my pee.' 

'Your pee. What are you, my grandpa?'

Brendon hopped off the hood making Spencer bounce in place.

'Don't knock it, Smith. Your gramps knows some shit.'

He motioned at Spencer with his wrench.

'Get off my car, now. Got work to do.'

Spencer hauled himself off the car and wandered out to the forecourt. He looked up and down the road, half-hoping to see Brendon's dream come true before his eyes. But there was nothing but sun-bleached road in either direction, the diner and convenience store one way, the Ways' gas station the other. He propped himself against the shutter frame and closed his eyes, feeling the sun on his face, and tried to think of something he would rather do than run a car-repair shop with his two best friends. 

///

Spencer had started working at Pete's garage when he was still in high school. Sometimes he helped out on the floor – Pete said he had the makings of a pretty good mechanic – but mostly he'd worked in the office, doing the accounts on a spreadsheet he’d set up himself (‘You’re a goddamn computer genius, Smith,’ Mr Barnard, the old manager had said).  So when old Nardy passed away, it seemed natural for Spencer to finish up at high school and go work at the garage full-time.

'You okay being the boss of your classmates?' Pete had asked him.

‘I guess. It’s not gonna be that different.’

'Don’t count on it. There's nothing worse than firing a friend, kid.'

And Spencer had rolled his eyes at Pete’s drama. He wasn’t gonna be firing anyone, least of all Brendon or Ryan.

The next morning, Spencer slid Pete’s new poster into the A-frame that sat on the forecourt, and tried not to remember his warning a year ago. If Brendon and Ryan lost their jobs, Spencer would be losing his own right along with them. Somehow that didn't make him feel any better.

Ryan wheeled Mikey’s cycle down to the front and flipped down the kickstand. He stuffed his hands in his overall pockets and squinted at the bike. 

'Done?'

'Yeah. It'll never be anything but a piece-of-shit piano though.'

He still took a rag out of his pocket to wipe away some smear of dirt Spencer couldn't even see. Then Spencer heard gravel crunching behind them and Brendon's voice making the sound of squealing brakes. He rode his pedal-bike straight into the garage and threw a package at Ryan on his way past.  

'Your monthly porn!'

Ryan caught it against his chest. 

'Thanks, man.' Brendon's cousin worked at the newstand and got them all a discount. Ryan took the package over to his workbench and tucked it carefully into a cubbyhole with a bunch of similar looking packages. Brendon propped his bike against the back bench and started climbing into his overalls, only his shorts on underneath. Spencer wished he didn’t know that sometimes, or that Brendon found it so easy to get naked 'It's just the  human body in all its beautiful glory, Spence. Nothing to be scared of.' Spencer never mentioned it wasn’t fear he was feeling when he looked away.

'So, what's Pete’s hot new promotional idea?' he said, joining Spencer on the forecourt, drawing the zip up his chest.

'Fixit 4 More!' Spencer read out from the board. ‘We may be pricier, but we're worth it!’ 

Brendon rolled his eyes. 

'Jeez. I take it back. We're going _down._ '

The day went by. Spencer had a fight with one of their suppliers who was refusing to honor the discount he’d promised. He paced up and down in his office with his shirt sleeves rolled up and the phone hot against his ear, but finally managed to beat the guy down. He emerged around noon when Ryan was retrieving his morning package from its cubbyhole. He opened it carefully and moved aside parts and dirty rags on the bench to make room for the magazine he took out of the envelope. He turned the pages slowly, occasionally make a small noise of surprise or contentment. Spencer went to the store to get them all slurpees (because he was a good boss) and when he came back Ryan was sighing, ‘Ah, she’s beautiful.’ He slid the magazine down the bench towards Brendon who looked over and whistled softly. ‘Out of your _league_ , man.’ Ryan made a vague huffing noise. ‘Where’s Spence?’ 

‘Here,’ said Spencer, handing around the slurpees.

‘Look,’ said Ryan, exchanging the drink for the magazine. Spencer looked, taking it over to the bench and spreading it out so they could all see. The cycle was gorgeous, all gleaming lines and perfect proportions, with power up-the-wazoo. It was a Ducati, obviously. Fast, expensive, Italian, and Ryan had never seen one except at shows in Vegas. He’d certainly never fixed or ridden one. 

‘Yeah, Ry,’ he said. ‘ _Totally_ out of your league.’

Ryan dug his fist into Spencer’s arm and drawled, ‘Fuck you. I could totally take that apart.’ 

He was talking about the bike, but his tone was like a fingertip curving down Spencer's spine. The Ryan he hadn't seen in a year - and only got glimpses of even then - was suddenly standing right beside him. Brendon gave off heat and light like an old-fashioned lightbulb, energy burning out into the atmosphere, but sometimes Ryan gave these little reminders that he had heat too. He caught Ryan's knowing look as he rubbed his arm and thought of the bruise that would come up, and tried not to remember the bruises and marks they all used to leave on each other, late nights in their bedrooms (and once, the darkened office), when he was less than their boss and more than a friend.

He'd given that up for the right reasons (for his 'professional conscience' he'd said at the time. Jeez, what a dick) and he knew it was the right decision. But sometimes, just sometimes, he wished they could go back to how it used to be. 

He stayed there for a little while longer, flipping through the pages, with Ryan and Brendon snarking happily either side of him. Then he went back into his office, sat down in front of his computer and tried to keep them all in jobs.

There was an emergency tire change a little while after lunch - a guy limped in off the highway with a baldini - which Brendon looked after without asking (Spencer could _sense_ Ryan turning his nose up at the job from inside the office.) The guy told them that the freaky dudes down at the gas-station had sent him on over and Spencer yet again found himself thanking god for the Way brothers. The guy left, happy with his new tire, plus the others filled, the oil checked, and the fuck well and truly charmed out of him by Brendon. Spencer was pretty sure the guy was straight, but it was Spencer’s private theory that Brendon Urie could turn anyone, and that guy was halfway into B’s pants by the time he left. He said he'd tell his friends about Wentz's Dentz Repair Shop (Pete loved that name and anyone who thought it was shitty rhyme could go fuck themselves). 

Then at four, Pete called. 

‘Hey, buddy,' he said. Then: 'How are you?'

Spencer’s stomach dropped. Pete never did the smalltalk thing. 

‘Uh, I’m fine, dude. What’s up?’ he said warily.

'I met with the accountant a little while ago.' 

And there it was. Spencer knew Pete was trying to be kind, but that cliché about ripping off band-aids was a cliché for a reason.

'Just tell me, Pete,' he said, closing his eyes. 

There was a silence then a small sharp noise in the background. Could have been a glass being set down; could have been a mouse-click.

'Patrick says Dentz is gonna have to close.'

'When?'

'Next month.'

Fuck, that was soon.

'I’m sorry, Spence.' 

Spencer didn’t think he’d ever heard Pete so lifeless. But Spencer's own mind had already clicked into gear, thinking about logistics, about finishing jobs, getting final payments, selling unused parts. It was weirdly calming.

'Speak to me, Spence. You ok?'

'Yeah,' he said, and he was. In a way it was a relief, like someone dying after a long and painful illness. 

'Brendon and Ryan, they'll...'

'Take it hard,’ Spencer said, because they would. Brendon would bounce back easiest, find another job pretty quickly. Maybe the covers-band he fronted would take off, or he might even end up going to work for Fixit. But Ryan would set himself on fire before he went to work for the evil empire, and short of some guy from Ducati or Kawasaki losing his way down the exit ramp and accidentally ending up in Summerlin, he’d be lost.

Spencer realised Pete was talking again.

'...everything we could,' he was saying. 'It’s a great business and you ran it well. It’s just those fuckers at Fixit.'

'I know, Pete,' he said, and felt suddenly like he was older than Pete, comforting him. They said their goodbyes and Pete said he was going to come by in the next couple of days. After he'd hung up Spencer resisted putting his head in his hands. If Brendon or Ryan looked over it would scream, 'We're closing and there's not a goddamn fucking thing I can do about it'. 

He got up and propped himself in his open doorway and saw the same thing he did every day. Ry was listening to the engine of the Suzuki that had been brought in a week back. He knelt next to the bike, ear pressed to the engine casing, a faraway expression on his face. All he could see of Brendon were his feet sticking out the end of a car. 

'Mother _fuck_ ,' he heard coming from underneath it and the clang of a wrench on concrete. 

Quietly, Spencer slipped out the back to the store (Greta raised an eyebrow at his purchase but didn't say anything except, 'Bad day, huh?') and came back via the front entryway, thumbing the shutter-button to bring it down to halfmast. The rattling of the shutter made Ryan look up and Brendon slide out from under the car on his dolly. 

'But its only four-thirty, Sp... .' Ryan broke off when Spencer dumped the two six-packs on the workbench.

‘Pete called,’ he said, and felt like a dick as he watched Ryan’s face fall in understanding. What was he supposed to do? He had to tell them somehow.

'Shit,' said Brendon succinctly, then rummaged in his overalls for his pocket knife. He flipped out one of its tools and held out his hand to Spencer wordlessly. Spencer handed him one of the beers, which Brendon opened and gave to Ryan. Then he did the same for Spencer and himself, and they all drank together. Spencer felt the cold bubbles and bitter taste hit the back of his throat with something like relief. 

'So Spence,'  Brendon said, putting his bottle down on the cement floor with a dull clink. 'Come on, man. Make it official. Put us out of our misery.'

Spencer took a breath and he told them. 

///

It was much later and they were all pretty wasted. 

Mikey and Frank had come by earlier to pick up Mikey’s ‘cycle and Spencer had told them the news. Frank had run out for a bottle of Jack and they’d stayed a while to shoot the shit. Frank had bitched about Fixit, sharing gossip he'd heard about the below-par work they turned out, which only made Spencer feel worse. It meant they were losing their livelihoods for no good reason. He took another swallow of beer and tried to will himself drunker. At some point, Frank grabbed Brendon's bicycle and rode it round the garage in a wobbly circuit, calling out (like he always did) 'You're a car mechanic who rides a bicycle. You don't make any sense, Brendon Urie!' And Brendon had grinned - which made Spencer smile too - rolled his eyes and didn't bother to answer. Brendon had some complicated philosophical explanation for why he didn't drive a car which Spencer could never remember right, though Ryan always seemed to understand it. Ryan was talking quietly to Mikey, who was propped happily against the seat of his newly fixed bike.  

Eventually the guys had to get back to the gas-station (Spencer thought Gee had called, but things were getting pretty blurry by that point), so they trundled the cycle away, and it was just the three of them again. 

Ryan had changed out of his overalls into jeans and some obscure band t-shirt and was straddling a chair he'd dragged over. He was getting into one of his Ducati rambles and had a good head of steam up. Brendon looked wryly up at Spencer from the floor, arms resting on his bent knees and the dregs of the bottle of Jack dangling between his fingers. Spencer huffed a small laugh, lay back on the hood of the Chevy, and let the sound of Ryan’s voice wash over him too. Mostly he found Ryan’s speeches boring as shit, but there was a part of him that loved hearing Ry so passionate. It didn’t happen often and always took careful application of the right amount of alcohol and weed. 

It was good to think about something other than Pete’s phone call too. His head was nicely muzzy and he looked up at the garage ceiling – bare cement and pipes – and realised he’d never actually looked at the ceiling of his own garage before. And shit man, there was a ladies’ _shoe_ stuck underneath one of the pipes. How in the name of fuck did it get there, and more importantly,why? Spencer began to struggle upright to share this new information with the guys when he realised it was unusually quiet and he could feel a hand curling round his ankle. 

Spencer bobbled onto his elbows. Ryan had apparently done with talking and moved onto the hood beside Spencer. He was leaning heavily on one hand, sleepy-eyed, half-smiling at Spencer, while Brendon was looking up at him speculatively from the edge of his dolly. Brendon tightened his grip around Spencer's ankle. The feeling was instantly familiar, sparking up his body: it was everything Spencer shouldn’t want.

'Guys,' he said warily.

'Hey,' said Brendon, his voice intimate, soft. 

Ryan sprawled closer, nudging into Spencer's side. 

'You've been stressed, Spence,' Ryan mumbled,  pressing his teeth softly into Spencer's shoulder. 

'Yeah, dude. You need to chill.'

'I'm... I'm chill,' he said. 

But his body was waking from its alcohol-induced torpor, nerve-endings firing, making him act on instinct. Ryan inched closer, and before he knew what he was doing Spencer had tipped his head back to let Ryan nuzzle at his throat and raised a hand to cup Ryan's head to press him closer. He heard a small metallic crash and felt Brendon's hand sliding up his calf, gripping the back of his knee and heard the sound of the dolly rolling away, forgotten. He let Brendon tug him down so he was standing propped against the Chevy, his ass against the grill, while Brendon crawled up him and started fumbling with his pants. Spencer patted vaguely at Brendon’s head, and thought, _he shouldn't be doing this, I shouldn't be doing this, we all promised_ , but Ry was mouthing along his jaw, unbuttoning Spencer's shirt one-handed, and all he had to do was move his head a little to the side and he and Ryan were kissing sloppily, and Jesus Christ it had been _too long_. He could feel Brendon's warm breath over his cock and Ryan was sliding his hand inside Spencer's shirt, long fingers playing with one of Spencer's nipples and it was just... _oh god._  

'Guys,' he said, pulling away from Ryan’s mouth, trying to straighten himself out, stand up, be an adult. 'We can't...'

But Ryan pressed the length of his body along Spencer's side and bent his head to mouth Spencer's other nipple, while Brendon carefully pushed Spencer’s underwear down over his cock, which was hard, aching already when they'd barely done anything, this was all it took.

'Did he say something?' murmured Ryan against Spencer's chest.

'Mm,' hummed Brendon, splaying his hands on Spencer's hips. 'Not sure. It might have been a pathetic attempt to persuade us not to have sex.' 

And Spencer swore this was like a military campaign, like Ry and B planned it, a pincer movement or something. 

'Pathetic,' agreed Ryan absent-mindedly, circled the tip of his tongue around Spencer’s nipple and Spencer sagged back, letting it happen, his body an invaded country. 

Brendon took him in, down to the root, his mouth hot, soft, fucking outrageous around Spencer's cock, and Spencer moaned helplessly, fisting his hand in Brendon's hair, trying not to thrust. It helped that Ryan was making Spencer deep throat his tongue and pressing his hard-on against Spencer’s hip, which meant Spencer was also trying to press himself against Ryan, which made him pull away from Brendon a little, which made Brendon make a small noise of irritation and pull Spencer back, and it was all totally unco-ordinated and god, what had happened to his resolve? He was such a helpless fucking slut when it came to these two.

He ended up jerking Ryan off, sliding his hand into Ryan's open jeans, his hand closing around Ryan's dick, Ryan trying to keep silent but his hitching breath betraying him. The angle was awkward, and with Brendon's mouth still working his own cock, it felt a little like trying to pat his head and rub his stomach at the same time. But Ryan thrust into his fist and Spencer could feel little puffs of breath where he was panting on Spencer's bare skin (his shirt somehow totally awry now, his chest and stomach exposed to the cool air) and Brendon’s thumbs were pressing into his hipbones and his tongue was working the underside of his cock and he loved this, had always loved it, he didn’t know how he thought he could give it up. He wished he could touch Brendon’s face, he loved to run his fingers along his jaw and feel his cheeks hollowing under them, but the hand that wasn’t busy with Ryan was occupied holding himself upright against the car, because wow, he was a little drunk.

'Tighter,' murmured Ryan after a while, lowering his hand to cover Spencer's inside his jeans, and Spencer shifted, tightened his grip and started jacking Ryan in earnest. Ryan raised his head and they held each other’s gaze, mouths ajar, each daring the other to look away first.

(And this was how it had started, when they were teenagers, playing beat-off chicken behind the music block after hours, each daring the other to bail, both of them stubborn as fuck and never giving in, until they had found themselves frantically jerking off into shocked orgasms, panting and giggling nervously at what they had just done.) 

Ryan lost the staring contest this time (he almost always did, thought Spencer smugly), his eyes sinking shut as he spilled hotly over Spencer's hand, groaning softly. 

After a minute, Spencer took his hand out of Ryan's jeans and Ryan swung away to lean back on the hood. This gave Brendon more room to manouevre and he shuffled closer to Spencer and started sucking in earnest. Spencer bent over him, his come-covered hand resting gently on his head.

'Fuck,' Ryan slurred out. 'Fucking look at you.' 

Brendon must have heard because he popped his mouth off Spencer's cock, apparently to obey Ryan's instruction. Spencer whined, 'No, don't,' and reached involuntarily for Brendon's head. Since when had Brendon gotten so fucking obliging? But apparently Brendon didn't care about Spencer's distress, because he was happy to sit back on his heels and look up at him. 

Spencer had no idea what he looked like, but Brendon wasn't doing so good himself. He was kneeling at Spencer’s feet, thighs splayed, locking Spencer in against the fender, while his overalls were stripped down to his waist, and his hand was inside them, slowly working himself. But it was his face Spencer couldn’t get over. His pupils were blown, mouth swollen and he was gazing up at Spencer with an expression Spencer could only partly read. There was want there, yeah, it was heavy, intense, but there was something else too, something unhappy and dissatisfied that Spencer didn’t want to think about. He looked completely fucking ruined and Spencer couldn’t take his eyes off of him. 

He thought he heard Ryan’s voice, as if from a distance, saying something like 'Jesus, you two,' then Brendon leaned forward and took Spencer back inside his mouth and Spencer didn’t know anything anymore. He had his hands around Brendon's face, tracing the line of his jaw which was unlocked, open, and when Spencer slipped a thumb inside Brendon's mouth, his other fingers splayed over his cheek, he heard a whimper come from somewhere, it could have been any one of them, he didn’t know, he didn’t care, he was curling over Brendon like a question mark, and then he was coming, Brendon sucking him through his orgasm, fingers digging into Spencer's ass, pressing Spencer against his face, like he was drinking from a cup with both hands. 

As Spencer came down, Brendon leaned his forehead against Spencer’s hip and finished himself off, stripping his cock fast, his hair damp against Spencer’s skin. Spencer drew strands of it lazily through his finger and thumb, thinking he might never move again. When Brendon came he made a weird falling, stuttering sound that could have been laughter or a cry of pain.

Then he heard Ryan's voice, a little cracked, speak.

'How's your "conscience" now, Spence?' 

And he looked up to see Ryan sitting on the chair, bending over to lace up his boots. He couldn't see Ryan's face. He didn't answer. He felt a squeeze on his hip and looked down at Brendon, still pretty out of breath. 

'Hey,' he said softly between breaths. 'Take no notice.' 

Then he got to his feet, shucking his overalls as he went over to where his day-clothes were stuffed into a corner of the back-bench. Ryan was taking the shutter all the way down, the rattling noise cutting through the night air, almost deafening. Spencer started tucking himself into his pants, buttoning his shirt. Then Brendon was standing in front of him again, back in his ordinary clothes. He glanced down towards Ryan before saying, 'He...' and broke off. Then he raised his hand to push Spencer's bangs away from his forehead. 'We missed you Spence, is all,' he said finally, then he leaned forward to press a glancing kiss to the corner of Spencer's mouth. Spencer tried to catch it, but Brendon was gone, wandering down to the entryway and Ryan. 

Spencer took a last look around, then followed them out. They'd have to start the business of closing tomorrow. 

///

They wandered home, spread out on the road, a late-night car swishing by once or twice. Spencer walked a little behind, Ryan and Brendon exchanging half-hearted insults until Ryan broke over something unforgiveable about his engineering skills. He chased Brendon down and tackled him onto the verge. After a brief tussle, Brendon managed to push Ryan off and got up, complaining as he brushed himself down, ‘Jesus, Ross, you are one pointy motherfucker.’ He prodded his ribs gingerly. ‘Are you like, _made_ of elbows?’ 

As they neared their part of town they moved closer together, shoving each other, kicking each other's heels. Then they got to the end of the street where Ryan and Spencer lived, and they stopped in the shadows, careful to stay outside the aureole of the nearest streetlight, trading kisses until Spencer broke them up. 

‘We still shouldn’t be doing this,’ he murmured as Ryan licked a line up his throat. ‘It’s unprofessional.’ The word rang hollow in his ears. 

Brendon laughed softly and said ‘Fuck “unprofessional”, Spencer. We’re _closing down_. It doesn’t matter anymore.’

No, it didn’t, thought Spencer with a pang. All his good intentions, to keep this thing between them under control so it didn’t fuck up their working life, none of it mattered anymore. 

He and Ryan said goodbye to Brendon, and then he waved Ryan off and let himself quietly into his house. As he toed off his shoes and tiptoed down the hallway, careful not to wake his sleeping family, he wondered what was going to happen to them all.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This was unbeta’d. I apologise for any Americana-fail or car-fail or Pete-fail. Or any other fail for that matter.


End file.
